Have Your Cake and Eat It Too
by Rebeccaseal
Summary: Ben comes to the coffee shop at the same time every week. So does Rey. He doesn't seem to notice her, but maybe she's more oblivious than she thinks. –OR– The waitress is damn tired of her customers being idiots.


I glance up, and there he is. _Stop being obvious_. I look back down at my book, taking a sip of coffee to distract myself. I look up again. He's still there, ordering his usual latte and croissant, his shoulders filling out his black sweater and large frame towering above the others in line. _Stop it_, I tell myself.

I take another sip and nearly choke. Somehow, miraculously, he doesn't hear me coughing like an idiot. I turn the page of my book, then realize I didn't even read the last one.

He finishes ordering and I watch surreptitiously as he sits at the table next to me, exactly where I'd known he'd sit, where he sits every week in some new black ensemble that manages to look high fashion but wearable.

My phone vibrates and I glance down to see a text from my best friend, Rose.

**Rose: You're stalking Coffee Shop Guy, aren't you?**

**Me: None of your damn business.**

**Rose: Just ask him out already. Then you can stop this stupid pining.**

I roll my eyes, unconvinced by the argument she uses every time. I put my phone face down, not bothering to respond, and go back to pretending to read my book.

He's eating his croissant, and I can't help but appreciate the way his jawline sharpens when he chews. I wish I was sitting across from him and sharing pastries and free to admire the wavy black hair that looks _so_ soft.

I sigh, knowing I am utterly infatuated. Knowing that I am both content and unsatisfied with daydreaming while he is unaware of my existence.

The coffee shop we're in suddenly gets busy as what looks like a giant conference piles in. One of the waitresses rushes over, her expression apologetic and stressed at the same time.

"I'm so sorry, miss," she tells me. "The group that just came in, they need tables. Would you mind terribly sitting with that man? It's just— you're both here by yourselves, and— I'm so sorry." She's fidgeting with her apron, clearly desperate.

"Oh, it's no problem," I assure her, though I'm a mess inside.

"Oh, thank you so much," she gushes, a stressed smile appearing. "Here, I'll get you a slice of cake." Winking conspiratorially, she whispers, "You can share it with him. I've seen the way you look at him."

I blush, utterly mortified, but strangely grateful. "Oh, um, thank you?"

She runs off, and I pick up my book, coffee, and purse, feeling the pressure of the conference members as they eye my table.

With the most apologetic, least-excited face I can muster, I approach his table and manage, "Excuse me?"

He looks up, coffee halfway to his mouth. His features, all large on a normal person, fit him perfectly.

I look away from his mesmerizing gaze, needing my words to be coherent. "Um, the waitress asked if I could share your table. The group that just came in, they need my table. Um, sorry, is that okay? You don't have to say yes," I ramble. "I can just leave, too, um . . ." I trail off, knowing I probably sound rude and intrusive on what was surely a nice morning for him until now.

For a moment, he just stares at me, lips parted, coffee suspended, and it's the longest moment of my life. Then he blinks and sets his coffee down, looking much more like the confident man with that ridiculously good hair and impeccable style that I've seen every week for two months.

"Of course," he finally offers, gesturing to the chair across from him. "Please, have a seat. I'm sorry, I'm not quite awake yet."

"Oh, it's fine. I'm sure this isn't your ideal morning." I set my coffee and book down and sit, trying to be as quiet and inoffensive as possible.

"No, really, you're fine," he insists. "I don't mind at all."

"Oh." I flush, knowing my dreams have been buoyed by false hope.

"I'm Ben," he says, holding out his hand.

"Rey," I reply, shaking his hand. He seems almost reluctant to let go, but maybe that's my own reluctance I'm projecting.

Just then, the waitress comes by, sparing me from saying anything more embarrassing.

"Chocolate cake, on the house." She sets the plate down with, as she promised, two forks. "So sorry about that. Please enjoy."

We both stare at the plate before he says, "I'm fine with sharing if you are. But if you're not, of course, by all means, you can have it." He seems a bit flustered, which I chalk up to the awkwardness of the situation.

"Oh, um, I'm fine with sharing." I can barely look him in the eyes, settling for addressing his stupidly attractive hands.

"Great." Ben's voice sounds a little forced, and I can't imagine how awful this must be for him.

I fidget with my coffee and my book, hoping I can get through this without him hating me.

"What book are you reading this week?" he asks, in what is clearly an attempt to break the silence.

"Oh, it's Maya Angelou! I just love her style and the way she creates tone and—" His words sink in. I glance up, seeing a flicker of panic in his eyes. "This week?" I press softly, hoping his answer is what I want to hear.

He gives me a small smile, and I almost melt. "Well, we always come here around the same time, and I noticed you're always reading something. I was just curious. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

I shake my head. "No, I just never thought you noticed me and—" _Shit_. I figure there's no point in hiding my awareness of him. "You don't make me uncomfortable at all," I reply, relieved to see his smile appear again. "Actually, I, um, I noticed you too, and I think, well, what I'm trying to say is—" I stop, overwhelmed and anxious and maddeningly unable to get the words out.

Ben reaches across the small table and gently picks up my hand. "Is this okay?" he asks, so gentle despite how large he is.

"Yes," I whisper, enthralled by the warmth in his gaze.

"Please, continue what you were saying."

His low, soothing voice and his firm grasp on my hand steady me, and I take a deep breath.

"You're, um, very attractive." I swallow nervously, and he squeezes my hand. "And I'd like to get to know you. We could get coffee?"

His face breaks out in a huge grin, and my insides turn to mush. "I also think you're very attractive," he states, picking up my other hand. "And I'd love to get to know you. But I think we've already had coffee, so maybe we should eat this cake."

I smile widely, and the way he looks at me makes me feel like I'm floating. "Cake sounds good," I reply, but neither of us release our hands.

For a few seconds, we just stare at each other, reveling in the excitement of our mutual discoveries. Then Ben chuckles and says, "I suppose we have to let go if we want to eat this."

I giggle. "I guess so."

He only lets go of one of my hands, picking up a fork. We take a bite at the same time, and I close my eyes in bliss. When I open them, I find him openly staring at me with a hungry expression. His fork is halfway back to the cake, but I can tell it's not food he's hungry for, and the thought makes me blush.

We hurry through the rest of the cake, exchanging basic things like jobs and favorite books, and I find out he loves literature as much as I do. The cake disappears quickly along with the rest of the coffee, and we're soon picking up our things and pushing past the conference people.

"Thank you!" we call to the waitress, and she only waves and grins in what is clearly more than just "you're welcome."

As soon as we step outside, Ben murmurs, "Would you like to come to my place?"

My answer is already decided, but I tease him anyway. "Awfully forward of you for a first date." He's already got his arm around my waist, so my words don't hold much weight.

He laughs. "Well, if you consider the times before that, this is really more like our ninth date."

I raise an eyebrow. "Do you normally not talk on your dates?"

He flushes at my meaning. "God, no, I really want this to be serious, I just —"

I use his shoulders as leverage and lean up to kiss him, shutting him up. "I'd love to go to your place," I whisper against his lips. "And I'm so happy you want this to be a real relationship."

His kisses me with more fervor, then pulls away, panting. "Let's go, or we'll never make it."

With that, we're off, our initial fast-walk quickly morphing into a jog then a full-out sprint. His house is around the corner in a nice apartment building, the kind with a doorman who is so well-trained he doesn't even blink twice as we come barreling in, greeting us as I imagine he greets everyone else.

We rush past the doorman with a brief hello and into the elevator, and Ben pushes the button for the fourteenth floor. He stalks toward me, flattening me against the wall and eyeing me with an intensity that makes my knees go weak. Cupping my face with his hands, he kisses me, passionately and fervently.

By the time the elevator dings, I'm a boneless heap in his arms, and he practically carries me to the door of his apartment. He fumbles with his keys, still trying to support me and kiss everywhere he can reach. I'm certainly not helping, pressing myself against his body.

Eventually, he gets the door open, and we stumble into what must be the living room, but I don't get a good look because he leads me into what is definitely the bedroom, judging by the bed he pushes me onto. I pull him down to me, running my hands through the perfect hair I'd admired for weeks.

"Rey, can I touch you?" he asks, tracing his fingers down my cheek.

I smile and reply, "You already are. But you can touch me other places, too."

Ben grins, letting his fingers travel down to my collarbone. "You know, the first time I walked into that coffee shop and saw you I thought you were beautiful. And then you were reading all those books, and I never knew Tolstoy could be so attractive."

I blush, leaning up to kiss him. "After I saw you for the first time, I went there every week at the same time because I knew you'd be there." I run my hands through his hair again, then admit, "I've always wanted to touch your hair. It looked so soft and . . . well, it is soft."

He chuckles. "You know, I also went at the same time every week hoping to see you."

Giggling, I remark, "I guess we wasted a lot of time, then."

He begins kissing my neck. "It's okay, we can make up for it."

"You know it's eleven am, right?"

Ben pulls back. "Are you busy today? Sorry, I didn't even think to ask —"

"I'm not busy," I respond, pushing his head back down to my neck. "I'm just saying, if you really want to make up for lost time, we should start now."

He pauses in the middle of leaving a hickey. "You're right."

We don't leave his house that day.

A week later, we walk into the coffee shop together, order together, and sit at the same table. The waitress is delighted to see us, saying, "I'm so glad you two stopped dancing around each other!" My friend, Rose, said the same thing when I told her I was dating Coffee Shop Guy.

We smile at each other. I don't have a book today. Instead, there's a croissant between us and a slice of cake. We talk passively about books, and we share recommendations and thoughts. We mostly enjoy each other's company, having spent the last week talking and enjoying every free hour we could with each other.

"It's amazing we ended up here," he comments, running a thumb over my wrist.

I smile and say, "We probably owe that waitress a nice gift."

Ben laughs. "Yeah, I was shocked when you asked to sit with me, but I was so happy you did."

I groan, remembering how awkward I'd been in front of him, how difficult it had been, and still is, to concentrate. "God, I couldn't even form a sentence."

Smiling he counters, "I thought it was cute. I was really hoping you'd say what you said."

"I'm glad I did." I squeeze his hand.

He gestures to the cake. "Shall we?" He picks up a fork and offers me a bite.

I let him feed me and smile. It tastes like home.


End file.
